


A Happy Accident

by DeniedLove



Series: Geralt and Jaskier’s Cute Adventures [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeniedLove/pseuds/DeniedLove
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt are assumed to be a couple. This is technically before Yennifer enters their livesWhat if after all of Jaskier’s bad romantic decisions one is left to possibly kill him?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geralt and Jaskier’s Cute Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616710
Comments: 10
Kudos: 384





	A Happy Accident

It’s not often that Jaskier and Geralt end up visiting a little village more than once. Their travels tend to take the odd couple in different directions at any given time. There is not much of a pattern to destinations. The only time they aim for a specific place is if there is a contract to kill a monster or a royal party requesting the famous bard. Fait must of had different plans for the traveling pair when Jaskier suddenly recognizes a cropping of buildings amongst a group of farms. 

“Ah, Geralt? Um, I think we’ve been here before.” There is no answer so Jaskier continues. “Why do I have an ominous feeling that we’ve been here before Geralt?”

“Did you stick your sausage in a farmers wife or a stable boy here?” There is a bit of mirth in his golden eyes and a smirk on his Witcher’s face. 

“You know very well I have not been sticking my bits any where else for well over four years now!” The bard pokes a finger into Geralts armor. 

“We haven’t been back this way for almost five years.” The taller man answers as he weaves between people to find what passes for a bar or inn around here. He has to admit, this village seems familiar. Finally, spotting what he’s looking for he ties Roach to a post and escorts the bard into the small bar. 

“Geralt,” the bard hisses, “I swear this older man is glaring at me!” The weathered elder turns away just as the travel companions cross the threshold of the establishment. 

“Hum,” is the only response he receives. 

The bartender looks up to see them and instantly has a glowing smile on his face. “Geralt of Rivia! The White Wolf and his trusty bard! You return! When the posting was put out for that damn hellhound running around we were not sure if it would be our previous hero returning!” Two mugs of ale is instantly put in front of the men. Jaskier’s “told ya so” is quickly drowned out by locals cheering. Some of them even pat the Witcher and Bard hard on the shoulders as a welcome.

Not a reaction Geralt is used to he ignores Jaskier and tries to ignore the warm welcome. He takes his tanker, shrugs, and takes a big swig before remembering their last visit to this forsaken town. A young werwolf had been terrorizing the farm animals and villagers of the town. It was a sad end and the poor boy was ‘put down’ with many tears in everyone’s eyes. Now it was a hellhound which could only mean a not so wonderful witch was involved. 

Addressing the bartender he pulled as much information as he could regarding the arrival and events surrounding the hellhound. Bartered a price that was higher than he would normally receive and free lodging for their stay. This kind of gratitude is still very new to him. Ever since Jaskier’s inaccurate songs not only has he been able to stay the night at inns but expect beer that has not been spit into. It was... embarrassing. He didn’t fully understand why this made him feel embarrassed. He knew he was not used to the positive attention or the happy familiarity that this bartender directed at him. When he thanks the man again with a rough grunt hiding his fluster he turns to see a scrawny old man with his bony fingers wrapped in Jaskier’s collar hissing in the bards face. 

————

While Geralt was doing his business Jaskier took his drink to find a table. Just in time for that crotchety strange man to enter the bar. Their eyes link and a chill went down the young mans spine. Trying to go back to his tall, strong, and safe Witcher proved to be a struggle as the thin wisp of an elder grabs him with surprising strength. “You! Your the little shit that abandoned my sweet flower Rose.” The mans voice was scratched with age and raspy. It smelled of rotting as it puffed into Jaskier’s face. 

Putting his hands up in self defense, one still clutching the tankard, “You have got the wrong man sir. I have no idea...” he is shake roughly by his collar. “Don’t lie to me boil! My youngest was a barmaid here and swore she found her true love!” Jaskier clamped his mouth shut. ‘Fuck’. He starts to remember the curvy, busty woman from years ago. “She was pure excitement when she told me. The next day you up and left!” Jaskier turned pale and his hands started to sweet. “Ah, how is sweet Rose doing?” His voice cracks. The mans face inches closer to his. Bad breath choking him. “She’s dead.” 

Geralts hand squashed down onto the bony one around Jaskier’s collar. “Let go.” With the minimal amount of force the old mans hand is torn from the bard. “He’s sorry for poking your.... hum.... adult child?” Geralt did not hear the previous conversation however guessing at the look and age of the man Jaskier did not hid his sausage here, maybe a younger member of the family? 

“He’s a reformed whore, the below bits are not what they used to be.” He manhandles his bard away from the angry walking pile of skin and bones. Shoving Jas into a booth with his own displeasure and glare. “We just can not visit any where twice can we?” He was not really that angry or surprised but he looks forward to the day when he does not have to hear or worry about any of Jaskier’s previous bad decisions. 

It takes Geralt a heart beat or two before he realizes his bard is not moving. Pale and sickly looking... and silent. “What did you do?” No response. Waving a hand in the bards face he tries to pull the mans attention to him. “Jaskier.” Snapping his fingers, “Jaskier! For fuck sake answer me!”

“Oh! Ah... sorry. I just...” Jaskier fumbles with his drink. He makes the motion of lifting the ale to his lips but he clearly only sips a few drops before putting it back to the table. “Um... I may have slept with that mans daughter last time we were here.” He looks shy and upset about it.

“Of course you did,” Geralt huffs. Jaskier does not say anything else and instead slips into his unusual silence again. “It’s not like she was your first fling Jas.”

“He said she was dead.” Jaskier chokes out. 

After a moment more of silence Geralt shrugs, “That is not great news but it happens to people. It’s not like you caused her death.”

“I suppose so.” It’s said a bit quieter than Geralt is used to. Well fuck... now he had hell hounds, a probable witch, and a depressed lover on his hands. Geralt tried to not be upset at Jaskier. Yes he had poked his bits and parts around all of the continent and had been known for getting into trouble because of it however, The bard had truly put an end to that hobby. Geralt was not jealous that was a useless feeling to have, he was more annoyed because even after five or so years he was still occasionally cleaning up the bards messes from his poor choice of sexual encounters. If someone would have told him that latter in his Witcher career he’d have to clean up an idiots list of one night stands as well as monsters he’d not believe them. 

Sighing the monster hunter tried to calm his mind as he finished his ale. Jaskier not touching his any of his own. By then the old rickety man had left. He nudges his smaller companion meeting sadden eyes. “Let’s get our stuff to the room.”

“Ya, sure.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “the poor woman met a sad fate, you can not be blamed for that.” 

“Her father said she...” sigh, “fell in love and was convinced it was forever.” Holding the tanker tighter Jaskier looks devastated. “That is the difference. All of my flings, all of this time, there was no assumptions, no mistaken, it was not permanent. Some how this woman thought we were more and then I was gone and she is dead. I’d rather have her yelling at me for breaking her heart.” In a rare moment of public affection Geralts hand is rubbing his bards back. “Let’s get you up to the room. Leave the beer.” He removes the tankard from the soft hands and scoots the bard out of the booth. Hands on Jaskier’s hips leads him up the stairs to one of the saddest rooms he’s ever seen. Ya he’s starting to remember this town more. This place is familiar. 

“Stay here for a little bit.” Geralt says as he drops the younger man onto the bed and gently lays the bards lute into his lap. “I’ll look after Roach and be back.” Jaskier nods and hums as he strums the instruments strings lightly. That would keep the depressed man busy long enough for Geralt to brush down and stable Roach. He hoped that by the time he returned his bard would have written a new sad sappy song and call praises to his muses as would be normal of the softer man. 

Untying Roach and leading her to the inn stables he notices the crotchety crank of a man waving and calling out. Not in his direction but a little bit right of him. A little boy bounds from a corner some where behind the Witcher and his horse all smiles and laughs. Giving the wincing old man a hug. Chestnut hair long and untamed . Now Geralt has his own brand of cranky but he had issues understanding the deepened look on the mans face when he sees the child. He roughly grabs the youngster and drags him away from the city square. With a shrug Geralt directs Roach the opposite direction to the stable. 

————

On his way into the bar with some packs from Roach slung over his shoulder he is stoped by the bartender and owners wife. Her lips are in a thin line of displeasure. What she has to say is alarming. Geralts mind is swimming and drowning. Surfacing for air and then failing again. ‘Fuck’. 

Back in the room Jaskier strums the lute and writs some words down in his journal. “Oh Geralt! What rhymes best with fair maiden? Lost haven or caw of a raven? Ya know what? I don’t really like either...” his bard is back to normal chattering away about the greatest song he’s going to sing and how this poor maden deserved better. It’s sweet really. Up until recently just about all of the bards songs were about him. Even his tackles crafted love songs which Geralt tries to ignore. Then he reflects on what the woman downstairs had to say and tries to squish back any felling about the issue right now. It would do the bard little good to bring that up yet. 

“Are you ready to hunt hell hounds?” He asks, “There seems to only be one hound which leads me to believe someone summoned it here.”

Nodding his head Jaskier puts his lute and journal safely away and gets ready for the hunt. After a particularly dangerous and almost deadly encounter with some wrath’s Geralt insisted and demanded that the lute and music writing stays behind until after their encounters have ended. Latter they had another bad wrap up with some bandits and Geralt also demanded that Jaskier learned how to wield a good size dagger for his protection. In return Jaskier could join and he had to do his best to be quite. On the events he could not join Geralt has made it a habit to give as much detail of his encounters as he can. This has been the compromise to keep his bard as safe as he could be. 

The situation at this village was unusual. One hell hound that was just hunting livestock. Enough to get noticed, enough to frighten the locals, and enough to creat a contract but not enough to devastate people. The summoner was using tactics he had seen before. He has his suspicions but none of them were certain. They would just have to wait and see what the outcome was. Out in the woods they set up a small camp. A location where they can view most of the farms but have some cover from elements so they were not out in the open and close enough to a particular shack he had his eyes on. They would have to wait till night fall. 

————

Jaskier hums to himself I bit louder than Geralt would have liked but it was better than silence right now. The bard complains that he should have brought his journal and Geralt reminds him of the time he was so destructed by it a harpy almost flew off with him. Jaskier sighs and starts his humming again desperate to not lose his new tune. 

Geralt wants to ask. He wants to have this in-depth conversation with the man. He does not know where to start or how. It’s a conversation he’s had before with others in his past. A conversation he has entertained as an option with select few. The conversation has never felt so right like it did at this moment but he just didn’t know how to start. Nor has the conversation ever gone over well. He takes a deep breath and lets his mind move around words as he keeps a look out. 

“Jas,” he starts. The humming stops. This is a nick name he only uses sparingly and when he’s trying to be serious. When he’s trying to use his words as requested of him. It helps the bard know the tone of conversation also. 

“Have you ever considered... settling down?” His bards face darkens and before the younger man can open his mouth Geralt puts a hand up to stop him. “I know we’ve talked about you not wanting anyone else. I’m not saying we separate or go different ways.” Jaskier’s face lightens just a little bit but is still serious. 

“Do you mean we should settle down? Like find a hobble as sad as that one and long term stay?” He jokes pointing to the shack holding Geralts attention on the other side of the field. 

“Kind of.” Geralt takes a minute to refocus his words. “More like, you stay a bit more permanent and I’ll travel back to you ever few weeks give or take.” He tries to make his voice light, questioning, like this is just an idea, nothing has been officially decided. “You mentioned going to the sea. A cottage maybe looking over the coast.” The Witcher shrugs. 

“I thought I was doing ok with the monster hunting!” Jaskier is getting offended and starting to look hurt. “I’ve trained and I’m leaving my lute behind. I’m even trying to be quite!” His voice starts to raise in volume. Geralt quickly hushes his bard and receives a bitter glare. 

“No Jas, it’s not that. Yes your doing better. I would like you to not ever be in a dangerous situation again however, I realize now that is not always in my control.” 

Jaskier takes in a deep breath calming his emotions. This is getting to be a bit confusing and he’s not sure what Geralt is getting at. He shrugs, “I mean not really. Sure I’d like a vacation but I do not think I could stay still in one place permanently. Let alone to keep a house while my strong beast of a Witcher disappears every month or so.” He gives his strapping Witcher a look that Geralt plans on revisiting later. “Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?”

“I have a feeling we may need to make a similar decision soon.” Geralt says ominously making Jaskier scrunch his forehead in confusion and a little bit of worry. 

“What is that even supposed to mean Geralt?” Jasper tries to not let his annoyance seep in as this conversation has been both cryptic and confusing like Geralt knows something he doesn’t and he sure as fuck is not liking it. “Will you just tell me what is going on?” 

Jaskier demands just as the last rays of the sun set and the howling begins. 

————

Geralt has yanked Jaskier to his feet and now he’s trying to keep the bard, his bard, running ahead of him in the field. The pounding of paws right behind them. Pulling out his silver sword, Geralt has no doubt that the hell hound will be on them shortly. His soft bard can not out run the hellish mutt that is chasing them. Jaskier twists his ankle in a hole and almost goes down but not before Geralts large hand is wrapped around his smaller bicep lifting him up in their haste. He gets his feet under him again and makes a made dash for the shit of a shack only a few yards away. Breaking through the last of the crops the two men turn around in just enough time, Gerald sword ready, for the beastly twisting form to exit the wheat, leaping high in the air. For a moment Jaskier’s breath is caught in his lungs. It’s a beautiful sight. His Witcher, taught mussels, dark leather armor, silver sword raised high, as a lumbering beast three times his size flys from the crops, it’s teeth gnashing, and spit flinging... this was a scene worthy of the most talented royal painter in all the realms. Jaskier has so much faith in his strong Witcher but that does not stop the squeak of fear that slips out of his mouth when the beast lands just between them, a large gash up the center of its belly. It stagers to its feat gravely hurt but not quite beaten. The fearful “Oh Geralt... FUCK!” That tears out when the hellhound turns on him and not the dangerous man with a sword. No the hound aims for... him!? 

With a grunt, a jump, and some scrambling Geralt is on the back of the Hellhound. Tightening his thighs to stay on its back he lifts his sword above his head with two hands and drives it home into the skull of the monster seconds away from it clamping down on his dearests torso. The body beneath goes limp and he rolls off the hounds back jumping up to inspect his bard frantically for any marks or blood. The smaller man is in tact if not a bit blown away by how close the muzzle of the creature is from his feet, tong lulling out the side of its mouth. 

Jaskier’s heart is pounding in his chest and he is taking deep breaths to slow it down when he hears the broken and crusty wail from inside the hut. “NOOO!” The door slams open and the skeleton of an old man steps out. Crushing a little boys arm in one hand and holding a nasty dagger in a threatening position at the boys throat. The little boy is crying big tears and hiccuping. In between a choking sob the men can hear snippets of “I’ll be good, I promise,” and “please no”. Chestnut hair is all over his face but not enough to hide the soft blue eyes brimming over with more tears. 

The old man roughly shakes the boy and spits at him to “shut the fuck up you rat”. He turns to Jaskier and practically screams, “This is your fault you shit of an excuse for a bard! This is your fault. She died and it’s your fault.” 

Geralt steps away from Jaskier and tries to shuffle closer to the man and boy. He can smell through the sweat and salt tears a hint of blood. He sees it, a cut on the boys hand. If it was not for the training he has received he would have throttled the man sooner, putting the boy in danger but no, he must wait for the right moment. 

In a blind fit of rage the mans hold on the boy tightens as he keeps on directing his rage at Jaskier. “Your fault she’s dead. If it wasn’t for dying during child birth....”

It hits Jaskier, he can’t see straight and the world is turning. “Child birth”?! For the first time he really see the crying child, face full of snot. Geralts words echo in his head, ‘I have a feeling we may need to make a similar decision soon.’ He doesn’t even hear the old man rattle on. He’s full of shock. This tiny child.... it’s his. He has bedded so many people but like he told his Witcher earlier that day, there was an unspoken agreement, no attachments, no long term, no weddings, no relationships, and no children. Rose however, didn’t seem to understand that at the time. He didn’t know. How could he? 

He didn’t see the elder shit of a grandpa point the dagger at Jaskier just in time for the now closer Witcher to dive in and decapitate him, hand still cliches around the little boys arm. The twitching body fell to the ground as Geralt caught the child and pulled him to safety. He did however notice the small shaking child in his lovers arms. He sank to his knees and looks the severed head in the eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” 

——————

Geralt has done his best to calm the child, as to say, he used magic. Not his finest moment but damit it’s been a night. He lifts the child up and cradles him in one arm. Jaskier is whispering his apologies to the gaping head bleeding out on the ground. Carefully he kneels down, laying the sword on the ground, and reaches his free hand up to stroke the tears away from Jaskier’s cheeks. “Jas. Jas, love.” Geralts voice is so delicate. He’s trying to not startle the man. He’s trying. Fuck he’s trying. It’s almost a whisper but Jaskier can finally register Geralt calling him... by his name, “Julian, Buttercup, this is not your fault.” 

Jaskier’s head snaps up and Geralt is looking into the shadow of his eyes, haunted. “How,” he crooks, “how fuck is this not my fault?” He rises to his feet and is basically screaming down at Geralt, “How the fuck is this not my fault. I got a woman pregnant and she died in child birth because I didn’t know! I didn’t know that she thought we were more! I didn’t know. How is this not my fault!” He points to the small child in Geralts arms. 

Geralt straightens up, pulls the bard closer, and touches their foreheads together. Circling his thumb against the other mans arm. “You didn’t know.” He responds softly, “It can’t be your fault you didn’t know.” Slowly he pulls the bad into a one arm hug and kisses the tears away as best as he can. “You’ve done nothing wrong Jas. This is not your fault. However,” he holds the child up closer to his bard, “if we abandon this boy then it will be our fault.” The small child whimpers in his spell induced sleep. Instinctively Jaskier raises his hand and pats the boys head. Taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself the way Geralt has taught him. “We should go back to the bar.”

Which they do. Geralt plans on removing the body after he settles his bard and the boy into bed for the night. He needs to have a talk with the woman again. They will have to stay at this village for a few days. Once they are back, a look is exchanged between Geralt and the wife. She nods in understanding and starts to spread the word, the nasty old bag has been stopped and the little child freed to be with his father. 

Geralt tucks the boy in and magic’s Jaskier to sleep right next to him. He doesn’t sleep. He cleans his sword, he returns to the shack. The Witcher disposes of the bodies and finally shuffled through the sad excuse for a home. The boy was clearly suffering from malnutrition. He found what little important items the boy had and packed them up. Taking what poor amount of coin or wealth he could from the shack he burns it down with help from a few locals. 

Turns out the old man had managed to not only summon a hellhound but also used the boys blood to track his father down and lure the men into town. 

They tell him they are happy the man is gone. They tell him Rose would have named the boy Jakub. It was in honor of his father even though by that time she had realized her mistake in young love. She held no remorse or ill will to the bard. She realized her mistake. Once she had the chance to hear stories of him she realized her silly mistake. Rose truly was a good soul and it was a wonder that her father had not squished that good will early in her life. She would give all of her earnings to him no matter how much he would beat her. He mother and older siblings long lost to a plague years ago. 

It had in fact been about five and a half years since their last visit there. Some villagers did try to find them but soon realized that the sporadic traveling the two men kept proved almost impossible for them to track them down. The child was coming to his fifth birthday in three months. They did what they could to keep the child alive and safe. 

—————

Jaskier wakes up with a ping of pain in his head. His eyes are dry and ache from the tears. A small body is wrapped up against him. He slowly opens his eyes to see a tangle mop of hair the same color as his own. 

“Morning,” he looks up into golden eyes on the other side of the small body. Geralt tries to give his bard a reassuring smile. He didn’t sleep but he finally laid down with Jaskier and the boy to watch over them. It had been a very emotional night. 

“Morning,” Jaskier whispers back. 

“His name is Jakub, or that is what the town calls him. I guess his shit of a grandfather couldn’t have been bothered.” There is some venom in the mans voice but only a shadow of it. Geralt reaches over and starts to stroke Jaskier’s head. Rubbing his back and neck. “Jas listen, I talked to people from the village. Rose never blamed you. She realized she had put her silly young emotions on you.” Jaskier’s lips curl down into a frown but Geralt stops his words before he could let them out with a few fingers over his lovely but so depressing mouth. “Listen to me for a moment. The villagers are certain that she never blamed you. They even tried to find us at the time but couldn’t. Fait is a cruel bitch. None of this is your fault.” Jaskier finally nodded his head in acceptance, cold and regretful acceptance. 

They cautiously remove themselves from the bed as to not wake Jakub. Once they were down in the bar the eldest daughter of the proprietor was summoned to look after the boy upstairs. Someone he was familiar with as to not scare the poor thing when he wakes up. Gathered around a table with breakfast on its way the bartenders wife joined them with a sad but loving smile. “We never thought you two would come back this way. We are so sorry that we were not able to do more.” Jaskier offered her a sad smile in return, “I’m sorry this has befallen poor Rose. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.” 

The elder woman pats Jaksier on the cheek, “Nonsense darling. She was a good soul and never blamed you once. We’re happy to know that the boy will be safe with you two.”

“Just like that?” Geralts tone is dark. 

“Geralt,” he warns but it doesn’t prevent the Witcher from saying his peace. “You think our lives are safe for a child?” There is heat in his words. 

“Of course it’s not!” Jaskier’s hands fly up in frustration. “Did we not have this conversation yesterday? We’ll find some place safe, preferably near the sea, and once in a while you’ll find a contract and I’ll sing songs. Once the boys grown a bit we can travel some more. He’s going to need to learn how to fend for himself and cook and....” Geralt can’t hide his smile fast enough as his Buttercup continues to describe all of the things they will teach little Jakub over time. The wife smiles and pats Geralts hand before her exit to the kitchen with a twinkle in her eyes. Their little Jakub would be safe and well with his Father by his side and the White Wolf as a protector. 

As she finished cooking breakfast she heard an exclamation of “Good fuck Geralt he’s hardly five! We can’t give him a dagger yet!” With a smile she serves the men and hears the hums and grunts responding to the babble that is the excited bard. She knows her little Jakub and apparently he is very much like his father. This warms her heart. 

An hour latter her daughter comes down the stairs with the little boy in tow. He’s cautious and looks at the now quite bard and Witcher with weary eyes. Looks up at the young woman for confirmation and receives a head nod. “That one right there.” She says pointing at the bard. He lets go of her hand and slowly walks up to the blue eyed, chestnut haired man and puts a small hand on his leg. In a quite but steady voice he asks, “Your my daddy?” 

Jaskier licks his dry lips and rasps out, “It seems like it. So ya I am.” If gives the boy his dazzling smile witch is returned tenfold from his little look alike. The boy than points to Geralt and says, “and that’s your husband?” Jaskier’s smile cracks as Geralt chokes on his breakfast. 

That was the first and only time this small village off the beaten path saw a Witcher blush.

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea that Jaskier finds himself with an accidental oops running around looking just like him. An idea that id like to add to over time


End file.
